


approaching acceptance

by Lyre (Lyrecho)



Series: a king in all but crown [1]
Category: Fire Emblem Heroes
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Background Diverges At The End of Book 2, Book 4 Hasn't And Will Not Happen, Coming of Age, Complicated Parent Feelings, Female Summoner | Eclat | Kiran, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Lore Building, Oneshot, Politics, Rewriting Lore, Set Post Book 3
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-29
Updated: 2020-02-29
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:41:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22947205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lyrecho/pseuds/Lyre
Summary: What's past is prologue, and Gustav is dead. The throne belongs to Alfonse, now. This chapter of the Askran Annals is his.(He's not ready. Not for this. Not yet.)Grief, and Hel's aftermath.|Tumblr||Twitter|
Relationships: Alfonse & Anna (Fire Emblem), Alfonse & Sharon | Sharena, Alfonse & Summoner | Eclat | Kiran, Marx | Xander & Veronica, Sharon | Sharena & Summoner | Eclat | Kiran
Series: a king in all but crown [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1649140
Comments: 4
Kudos: 32





	approaching acceptance

**Author's Note:**

> Started writing this because of Lif's lvl40 convo in FEH, and he didn't even appear in this fic. Well done, me!
> 
> Some points of AU:
> 
> \- This is mostly a Book 3 rewrite, wherein most of Book 3 did happen but I change some things around to suit me, but there are also things coming out of Book 2 that I changed. Namely (spoiler alert?) Fjorm is dead, here, and yes, it's for a good reason (if this was my actual Book 3 rewrite, you'd know why, but it isn't, so...). Basically: if something doesn't jive with canon, that was absolutely deliberate. Just go with it.
> 
> \- Anna in this 'verse is weird, and that's because I have my Own Anna Lore, and have for years. Basically, they're the Fire Emblem Fae. The Annaseelie, if you will, and a lot of my lore/HCs blur into Anna here, and you'll see bits of them. Just go with it.
> 
> \- Kiran in this 'verse is also weird! I had a crack HC about Kiran for a while, but then the TMS banner came out and suddenly added extra interesting bits to that HC, and I dragged my girlfriend into crack HC land with me - have fun trying to guess just what, exactly, is Up With This Kiran (and see if you can figure it out before my girlfriend posts her FEH fic which spoils the twist in the first chapter!)
> 
> \- I have a lot of summoning/gate opening lore i Don't Get Into Here, But Will Eventually.
> 
> \- I know our sun doesn't set in the east but it seemed like it would be funny for Askr to be a Bit Backwards.
> 
> \- I don't think the moon phases have any canonical reason to suddenly make Kiran's ability to summon heroes stronger, but the fact that Mythics and Legendaries only come around once a month for a handful of days much like a full moon was just. Too good to pass up.
> 
> \- This fic works with the ages I've been assuming for the characters for a while now, on the timeline for the game I've been keeping in my head, and so it absolutely does not match up with canon, or what canon has revealed. Sorry if that bothers anyone, but that's how it's going to be.
> 
> \- The first few fics in this series will be gen, but with a few shippy hints. Endgame pairing is Kiran/Alfonse/Bruno. No other pairings are planned, though some between background mainline characters (ie Chrom/Robin) might pop up every now and then (not prominently enough to be tagged).
> 
> \- IDK how relevant this is in this fic, BUT: Lif has clearly distanced himself from the identity of Alfonse. That's something we'll be delving into more when he like, Actually Shows Up, but just so you're aware. The language and attitude of the characters treating him like "just an alternate Alfonse" is something that's happening because Lif isn't there as well as their own complicated feelings and trauma. It'll get better. We'll Get There.

When Alfonse hears his office door open, and the soft click of boots make their way into the room, his first thought is that it’s Anna, come to scold him for working so late into the night, in such dim light; his candles burnt down low. If the intrusion had come earlier, it would have been Sharena, but at this hour? She’d be already sleeping deeply.

That’s why, when he looks up, seeing Nino standing nervously before his desk while tugging at the hem of her skirt, he speaks without thinking.

“What are you doing here?” He asks, and immediately wants to hit himself. That was unbelievably rude, and he can only be grateful that Nino doesn’t seem to think so, as she perks up slightly.

“Um - I know you’re busy, but…” she trails off. “The summoner… she…”

Briefly, Alfonse closes his eyes, and resists the urge to sigh. Already, a throbbing headache threatens to settle at his temples. “Is she still at the Obelisk?”

Just once, Nino nods, and Alfonse pushes away from his desk. “Thank you for telling me,” he says, and pats Nino on the head absentmindedly as he walks past her, heading for his door. “It’s late, so get some rest, okay?”

Nino pouts at him as he departs, but if she says anything more, he doesn’t hear her, because he’s already gone.

This late, the halls of the Order barracks are silent. It’s a peaceful sort of quiet, compared to the hollow grief of the palace halls back home. A refuge, almost, one that Alfonse knows he can’t find solace in forever.

Mother rules for him now, as Regent, but she isn’t of the blood of Askr. If he’d been younger, maybe he could have put it off longer - but he’d celebrated his nineteenth year not a month earlier, and since then, Mother’s missives have become more pointed in their requests for him to come home. To take up his crown, and responsibilities, and to bring his sister with him.

 _Let your heroes be heroes,_ Mother writes him, _the place of a king is the throne, not the battlefield. We’re not at war, Alfonse._

But - 

Alfonse is not ready to be king. His most shameful, hated secret, the truth he’s told no other: he’s not ready to leave the Order behind. He’s not ready to step back from the frontlines, as irresponsible as he knows it is, with Askr destabilised by Father’s death, with only Sharena as heir now. He’s not -

He’s not ready to say goodbye to Kiran, because whenever he leaves to be coronated, she will remain here, with the Order.

Or maybe she will leave, too - finally call on Alfonse with that one request he’s been dreading hearing fall from her lips; _will you open a gate, and send me home?_

It’s selfish of him to want her to stay, he knows, especially when he still has nightmares of that other, ruined Askr - of the Kiran of that world who had died in a battle she would never have been dragged into if their desperation hadn’t armed Breidablik to call on her. 

Pointless thoughts. Painful ones, but pointless nonetheless, and Alfonse has more pressing Kiran issues to deal with right now. Namely -

“I thought you said you were going to bed?”

Kiran, slumped back against the Obelisk, Breidablik held loose in one hand and breath coming out in harsh pants, jumps when he speaks and steps into the room. It’s dark - she hasn’t brought any lanterns or candles with her, or if she did, they’d burnt out a while ago - but the windows that make up the walls of this sacred place are high, arching, and without glass. Bright moonlight pools into the room like a silver sun, and the cool night air adds an echo to the silence that surrounds.

Blearily, startled, tired pink eyes blink and squint at him. “I couldn’t sleep,” she says, and pats the ground next to her. He makes his way over, and slides down so that they’re sitting side to side, and tries not to think about how cold and hard the stone ground is, or how sacrilegious it is to treat the Obelisk as some sort of _chair._

“I couldn’t sleep, either,” Alfonse says, though he hadn’t even tried to in the first place.

Kiran snorts. “No surprise there,” she says. “You wouldn’t know a good night’s sleep if it hit you square in the face.” Her words seem harsh, but her tone is teasing, and he can see the laughter dancing in her gentle pink eyes when she tilts her head to look at him.

She’d said, a mix of horrified and baffled, that she didn’t _have_ pink eyes, when she’d first arrived in Askr - she had _brown eyes._ A side effect of being pulled through an Outrealm Gate that hadn’t originally connected to her world, Anna had explained, and for the most part, Alfonse had forgotten that conversation altogether… except for when it came to moments like right now, when his mind is already too full of worst case scenarios, and he can’t help but wallow. Can’t help but _worry._

“I get plenty enough sleep,” he says, instead of voicing any of his darker thoughts. Kiran’s eyes still narrow like she can hear them, though.

“Sometimes, you do,” she agrees. “But not always. Not usually. And… not tonight.”

“... Not tonight,” he repeats, and leans into her. She’s warm, where the night air isn’t, and leans right back into him. “What about you?”

“Me?”

“You’re not sleeping, either.”

Kiran laughs, a little rueful, a lot bitter. She turns Breidablik over in her hands. “Sometimes,” she says, “my dreams are meaner than sleep deprivation.”

His gaze follows hers to the Obelisk they rest their backs on. “Are you dreaming of anything in particular?” He asks. He doesn’t like hearing about Kiran’s nightmares, usually - they’re often far too similar to his own for comfort - but he doesn’t like the idea of her just bottling them up, either.

A long, weighty silence. “I don’t want you to be mad at me,” she says finally, and Alfonse can only blink at her.

“I wouldn’t be,” he promises, because there isn’t much in this world that Kiran could do to make him _truly_ be angry with her.

“You might be,” Kiran corrects, “once you figure out who I’m trying to summon.”

And just like that, the pieces fall into place, because Alfonse knows Kiran like no one else.

“Líf,” he says, and it tastes like poison in his mouth. Kiran must hear the knives in his tone, because she curls away from him, just slightly, guilt and something mulish chasing across her face and resting in the tight set of her jaw, and Alfonse is left cold.

He doesn’t know how he feels about the other self that wasn’t him, but he knows he was relieved once it was all over before he got a chance to truly figure it out.

He doesn’t know how he feels, now, after hearing Kiran’s confession.

“I’m not mad,” he says, finally, because he isn’t. He doesn’t _know_ what he is.

“You’re not happy, either,” she says.

“I’m not,” he agrees, because even if he doesn’t know what he’s _feeling_ right now, he absolutely knows what he _isn’t._ “Why do you… ?”

Kiran swallows. Those diamond bright eyes meet his without flinching. “I don’t like the way this all ended,” she says. “Not for any of us.” She reaches out, to take his hand. Her gloves are thin, and her warmth seeps through the leather. Her touch is soft on his bare skin; he’d taken his own gloves off hours ago when he’d settled down to do some desk work, and hadn’t thought to put them back on when he’d wandered out here. “If it makes you uncomfortable, I’ll stop,” she says. “I mean, even if I didn’t like the way it all ended...it _did_ end. I don’t have a right to go digging into your wounds when they’re just healing, Alfonse.”

He sighs. “I’m not the only one still healing from… _all_ of this,” he murmurs. “I know that. I understand that, Kiran. If this would - if it would help you - ”

“That’s the thing, though,” she says, small and quiet, “I don’t know if it would help me… but I _do_ know it would hurt you. And, I…” She trails off, and sighs. “I don’t even know if this will _work,”_ she mutters.

“You’ve never failed to call on the hero you wanted, eventually,” he reassures her, even as he chokes around applying the word ‘hero’ to Líf. “And this situation can’t be all _that_ different to Gunnthrá .” It’s hard to get her name out, too. He remembers those long, long weeks of Fjorm’s pain and Kiran’s sleepless nights as she tried and tried and tried to take her summoning that step further, and pull not from a different world - but from _their_ world, at a different time.

He knows without her telling him that that is exactly what she’s doing now, too; she doesn’t want an alternate Líf. She wants the Líf they watched die. She wants the Líf they killed, that one, final time.

He grimaces, and feels a bitter resolve settle in his bones like a winter ache. “I want answers too,” he says finally, and it isn’t even fully a lie. “If you think this is what we need, then… I trust you, Kiran.”

Her answering smile is brilliant, blinding. “Thank you, Alfonse,” she says, and squeezes his hand.

He squeezes back. “But for now, I think we both need sleep,” he says, and stands, tugging her up along with him. “This can wait until the morning, can’t it?”

Kiran’s gaze is considering as it lingers on him for a long, stretched out moment. “I suppose it can,” she agrees, and takes his arm when he offers it to her.

He escorts her to her quarters in silence that edges on the awkward side of companionable. She smiles at him in farewell by her door, and wishes him a good night before vanishing into her chambers. He lingers in the hall alone, for just a second.

Before Nino had come to fetch him to chase Kiran into bed, he hadn’t been tired at all, but all of a sudden, he’s exhausted right down to his bones. To his _soul._

He breathes deep, and tries to force himself to relax and let go of the tension bunching up in his spine. It doesn’t quite work, but he tells himself that it has, anyway, and turns away from Kiran’s door, to head for his own quarters.

He doesn’t know how much sleep he’ll be getting tonight, but he has to at least try for some - or the next few days are going to be hell.

-x-

“You look terrible.”

Kiran jerks back into reality and blinks around hazily, looking for whoever had spoken - 

Anna, eyeing her with raised brows, standing over Kiran where she’d been - well, where she’d been slumped across the corner of the mess hall table she’d claimed as her own, her long forgotten tea gone stone cold and her plate pillaged by whoever had come along while she was dozing and had seen an easy free meal out in the open; probably one of the younger heroes, or one of the rouge types who ate with an arm curled around their plates and an eye on their surroundings, always paranoid of when that food would just _stop_ being available.

She yawns so wide she can hear - and _feel_ \- her jaw crack. “Thanks,” she says, sarcastic and muffled around the fist she presses to her mouth.

Anna laughs lightly, and Kiran tries not to think on how it rings that familiarity in her brain; when she’d arrived in Askr, startled and pulled from a reality that wasn’t the one she’d blinked awake to find herself in, she’d barely remembered a thing about herself. 

She hadn’t even known her real name. Alfonse and Sharena had given her _Kiran._

The amnesia had been… well, horrifying. It had been one of the most disorienting things, to not remember a goddamn thing about herself, but to see herself in the mirror, and just _know_ with quivering, soul deep horror, that the face she saw looking back at her _wasn’t quite hers._

Even now, after so long living in Askr, she couldn’t recall all of who she had been, in her original world. Hell, as far as the Order was concerned, she still couldn’t remember a single thing about herself, because she’d never told them about those flickers of memories coming back as they’d stirred to life.

Because she knew her name, now. And, more importantly, she knew her _mother’s_ name. Her mother’s face.

Anna’s expression as the Commander looks down on her is amused, but edging indulgent, in that same, soft way that she looks at Alfonse and Sharena.

In the same way Kiran’s mother had looked at her.

Kiran shoves the thought away. It’s not important, right now.

“I didn’t sleep ‘til late,” she explains, and stretches in her seat, feeling her spine pop as she forces herself into _actual_ wakefulness. 

“Well, I can certainly see that,” Anna says. “Not that that’s anything surprising. Or unexpected. None of you kids know how to take care of yourselves.”

Kiran frowns at her. “I’m twenty,” she says. Anna reaches out and gives her nose a gentle _boop!_ The leather of her gloves is cool - thick enough that her body heat doesn’t sink into it enough to be felt from the outside. Kiran still has _no_ idea how she manages to keep a grip on her axe when she’s wearing those things; the leather they’re made out of is like particularly thick and inflexible plaster, in her opinion.

“When you get to my age,” Anna says, airily, “twenty, in comparison, is still very much a child.”

Kiran snorts, but doesn’t bother asking about her age. She’s learned the hard way Anna dodges personal questions like she does physical hits on the battlefield.

“As you say, Commander,” she says instead. “Did you come looking for me for a reason?”

“Actually, I came looking for breakfast,” Anna says. “You just happened to be here, and I _couldn’t_ resist poking at you, now could I?” She winks at Kiran, just before the teasing humour in her expression drops for something a bit more serious. “If you’re tired, you should really just go to your quarters and have a nap, you know? You’re no use to anyone sleep deprived, and sleeping slumped over a table isn’t good for your back.”

“Yes, _mother,”_ Kiran mutters, sarcastic as she rolls her eyes and ignores the burn in her throat that flares up at calling Anna by that title. “I don’t need a nap - I was just taking a break before I head back to work.”

“Oh?”

“I’m trying to summon a particular hero,” Kiran admits, and Anna laughs.

“You always do seem to have the hardest time when you’re chasing a specific one,” she muses. “Is it that big of a deal that you summon them soon?”

“More like I’m not sure I’ll be able to let this go until they’re here.”

Anna’s brows fly for her hairline. Something twists in her expression. “You sure you know what you’re doing, Summoner?”

Summoner. Not Kiran. This is the Commander, not Anna.

Kiran swallows, but doesn’t let her sudden apprehension show on her face. _No,_ she thinks, _I have no idea what I’m doing._

“Of course I know what I’m doing,” she says. “Commander, I’m hurt to know you doubt me so.” She places a hand on her chest, just above her heart, to really sell it.

Anna rolls her eyes, and lifts up a hand to shoo her off. “Away with you, then,” she says. “Go do whatever this important job is - don’t worry about your plate. And your mug. I’ve got it handled.”

“Thanks, Anna,” Kiran says, and swivels in her seat, before pushing herself to her feet. “I’ll be by the Obelisk if you need me.”

Anna inclines her head, and Kiran leaves her behind in the mess hall with a wave over her shoulder.

Out in the halls of the Order’s fortress, the nerves Kiran had woke up drowning in are back, and with a vengeance. 

She would have been at the Obelisk first thing in the morning, if not for one thing: Alfonse.

He’d given her his blessing the night before, and she _knew_ that he’d meant it - he wouldn’t have said it if he didn’t; Alfonse isn’t a liar, and he isn’t a man to go back on his word, _ever_ \- but that didn’t stop her from almost buckling under the weight of the guilt and anxiety she couldn’t help but feel over… all of this. Everything she’d been doing for the past few weeks, since they’d beaten Hel, and, shellshocked, made their way back to Askr to rebuild. To heal.

She’d known, from the start, that she should have just sat down and _talked_ to Alfonse - about both her feelings and her plans - but she, so desperately, had _not_ wanted to hurt him. And this had hurt him, she knew. Hurt him all the more for the fact that she’d kept it from him for as long as she had.

 _God,_ but she’s a terrible person. An absolute idiot.

She really doesn’t know what her plan had been beyond _summon_ _Líf_ _;_ she didn’t exactly have a questionnaire written out, after all. Nor had she planned for what she’d do if he _wanted_ to stay, once she’d succeeded in summoning him - her goal had been closure, thinking, just quietly, in the back of her mind, that once she’d gotten it, she’d just be able to send him on his way, like she’d done for particularly volatile or uncooperative heroes in the past.

That, in hindsight, is cruel of her. Incredibly so.

 _You’re making_ great _decisions lately, Kiran,_ she snarls at herself, vicious and dripping venom, and resists the urge to break down crying.

She’s been crying too much, recently, ever since Alfonse had stood in front of her with a confident posture and shaking hands, and called out _I know your name. Your_ true _name._

(He hadn’t told any of them about his suspicions - not Anna, not Sharena, not even her. Not Kiran. She’d been as blindsided as the rest of them by that revelation.

How long had Alfonse been keeping that thought to himself? For how long had it burdened him?)

Kiran had faced a lot of difficult, impossible things since coming to Askr - her own death, even, multiple times. But Líf’s very existence topped the list.

She’d thought him angry, and feral, and she’d feared and hated him - for his power, for his daring to hurt the people and place she’d protected. That she’d come to call home.

Then Alfonse had revealed him to be his own warped funhouse mirror, and Kiran had seen through her own hate and _his_ anger to the deep wounds lying underneath. The grief, the hurt, the complete and utter isolation.

It terrified her that Alfonse could become that. It _agonised_ her that, once, an Alfonse _had_ become that.

 _Not my Alfonse,_ she’d chanted to herself, over and over again, every time they’d encountered Líf after that. Not her Alfonse, no.

_But he could be._

And that’s the thought that kept her awake, night after night. That’s what kept her working herself to the bone, to total exhaustion, trying and trying and _trying_ to summon up a miracle she’s sure no one will thank her for once she finally manages to pull it off.

Hel is gone. But if Kiran’s learnt one thing in her time with the Order, it’s that there’s always another enemy around the corner. They’ve avoided their bleak fates this time, but - the next?

That fear thrums in her chest, a second, dissonant hummingbird heartbeat.

She needs answers. She needs to know _what went wrong,_ so she can make sure it _never goes wrong again._

 _You’re a self defeating masochist,_ something in the back of her mind whispers, _and the further you go with this, the more you push him away._

 _Shut up,_ she hisses back, with less conviction than she’d like. _I know what I’m doing._

She reaches for Breidablik, strapped to her side, and steps into view of the Obelisk. The sacred reliquary hums a soundless tune she can feel throbbing in her blood, and the weapon that’s _hers,_ now, in a way it will never be for anyone else, echoes back an answer she can’t hear, but that she _can_ feel; two parts that make up a resonating whole.

 _Today_ will _be the day,_ she tells herself.

She _will_ be bringing the hero she wants _home._

-x-

Alfonse didn’t sleep so much as doze his way through the night - he finally wakes up properly around dawn, feeling about as well rested as he usually does, these days: which is to say, not at all.

He stumbles his way to the basin of water he keeps on his desk, and scoops up a handful to splash on his face. It’s cold, and he’s immediately alert, but it doesn’t really make him feel any more _awake._

He stares at his reflection on the water’s rippling surface. He’s pale, and the skin under his eyes is dark and hollow. He looks… sickly. He grimaces, and shoves back from his desk. He gets dressed on autopilot, and leaves his chambers as he’s strapping his sword to his side.

He’s so focused on cinching it on _just right_ that he doesn’t realise there’s someone waiting for him, just outside of his quarters, until he walks straight into them.

He stumbles back a step, catches himself, and blinks up to see Prince Xander staring down at him with concern plain in his face, one hand reaching out, as if to grab him.

Amusement flickers to life in the back of his mind, a little bit. “I’m fine,” he reassures Prince Xander, and then frowns. “Why are you here?”

Because, if Xander was here, then…

_Veronica._

Alarm flashes through him, and now he’s suddenly wide awake; adrenaline a far more effective stimulant than cold water. “Is Princess Veronica okay?”

“She is well,” he says slowly, leaning back slightly from the intensity Alfonse realises he’s radiating. He clears his throat, and takes a step back, telling himself to calm down. “She wished to… visit herself.” His expression is strange when he says that - like he’d just been forced to eat a lemon, only to realise the lemon was a live mouse once it was already in his mouth.

Alfonse can’t quite blame him. It hurts his brain, sometimes, too, but the lines of Askr and Embla have long known of the existence of the Brave. When Kiran had called on that Veronica out of an unknown legend, Sharena had nudged him in the side and whispered _I wonder if somewhere out there,_ we’re _Brave Heroes, too!_

(At the time, the thought had excited him. Now, after meeting Líf… the idea of meeting yet _another_ alternate self fills him with dread.)

“Did she give any particular reason as to… why?”

Xander’s twisted expression dips into a full scowl. “No,” he admits, “but I believe she appreciates… her own guidance.”

Makes sense, in Alfonse’s opinion. Especially for Veronica.

(He’d been leery of letting Embla’s princess just wander the halls of their fortress… but, in the end, she was a child, and regardless of what had happened between them in the past, she was an _ally._ Even if she didn’t think so.

… and, well. He’d seen her face, that first time she’d encountered the Bruno Kiran had called from another world, dressed in Spring attire and laughing with the Veronica that had come with him. That stricken, lost and longing expression. Every emotion on her face had been perfectly clear to Alfonse in that moment… and they’d all been echoes of his own.

He hadn’t been able to keep her away, after that, even if she’d never actually so much as _talked_ to the Bruno that wasn’t _their_ Bruno.

He understood that, too. That _pain.)_

“Is there a reason that _you_ were looking for me, then?”

Prince Xander looks… like he feels exceptionally awkward. He’s always been the Nohrian royal Alfonse feels like he understands the most, while being the one he can talk to the _least._ From that first encounter where, even after his contract had been broken, he’d sworn his own loyalty to Princess Veronica, to every encounter after that - to their campaign against Hel, where he’d been nowhere to be seen, until they’d found him, held prisoner in the depths of Hel’s castle, chained and bloodied; he hadn’t exactly had much of an opportunity for conversation with the other prince.

 _Mother’s work,_ Eir had whispered, gently tracing the sigil’s carved into Prince Xander’s chest, while Princess Veronica at Alfonse’s side trembled - whether from fear, rage, or some mix of the two, he hadn’t known, and had never managed to figure out. _She seeks to make a Deadlord of him._

It had been a sickening sight, and, even now, is a sickening thought. The only thing that had been relieving about finding Xander down there in such dire straits had been what his imprisonment had represented - the coat of arms branded into his side had been that of Embla, reversed. 

_He stands for Embla,_ Eir had murmured, and Alfonse had known, in that moment - wherever it was that Bruno had fled, wherever it was that he had hid himself away, it was some place Hel couldn’t reach him in, either.

Xander had suffered, but Bruno was _safe._ From Hel, at least.

(He feels at least a _little_ guilty about how relieved he still is about that.)

“There was, actually,” Prince Xander murmurs. “I do not know what transpired, while I was Hel’s captive - not all of it, at least. Princess Veronica refuses to speak to me of it. And - ” His grimace twists into something darker, promising violence. “While I was gone, Loki gained her ear. And, even though she protests it… her trust.”

“That’s… not good,” Alfonse says, after a moment of thought. It’s somewhat of an understatement. Loki isn’t - well, she isn’t _evil,_ he doesn’t think, but she’s… capricious. Selfish, and self interested, and _always_ with her own agenda.

He’s almost certain that Múspell was little more than a playground to her; he can’t imagine that Embla - or Veronica - are any different.

He sighs. He’d been planning to track Kiran down, to continue their conversation from the night before - but this is just as important, if not more so. If Kiran succeeds in summoning Líf, Breidablik’s binding magic will ensure her safety; he won’t be able to disobey her. Loki, though… she’s an uncontrollable unknown, and if he wants to make use of Xander as an ally, he needs to make sure he’s as well informed as he possibly can be.

He forces a smile. “Walk with me, Prince Xander,” he says. “I’ll tell you all I know.”

-x-

“Oh, wow. Are you okay, Feh?”

The Order’s own personal Messenger Owl grumbles as she settles onto her perch - Sharena had tracked her flight into the main hall of the fortress, and had seen how she’d struggled under the weight of the bag strapped across her. It’s… really, _really_ full today.

 _“Fehhhhhh…_ oh, Princess Sharena!” Feh perks up, fluffing up her chest as she stands at attention. “Feh, reporting for duty!”

Sharena can’t help the little smile that tugs at her lips. “I can see that!” She says, and reaches out to scratch under Feh’s wings. “A lot of mail today, huh?”

“Most of it is for Commander Anna,” Feh says. “But I’ve got letters for you and your brother, Princess Sharena! And the Summoner, too!”

 _For both her and Alfonse,_ and _Kiran?_ Sharena purses her lips as she thinks. “Who are they from, Feh?”

“From the Queen!”

Her eyes go wide, just a little bit. _Mother?_

She swallows, fighting down the nerves that just sprung up with Feh’s words. “How about you give me those letters,” she says, “and I’ll go give them to Alfonse and Kiran, and _you_ wait here for the Commander?”

Feh lets out a thoughtful hoot. “Since it’s _you,_ Princess, I guess it’s okay!”

Sharena smiles her thanks, and gives Feh one last ruffle, before picking out the letters the Messenger Owl points her to, and leaving, holding the handful of envelopes to her chest. Her heart is beating painfully fast, like it’s trying to break right out of her chest.

Mother hasn’t written her in over a month - not since Alfonse’s birthday.

She hasn’t been able to forget the contents of that last letter, no matter how hard she tried. She _dreads_ what may be in this one.

 _Calm down, Sharena,_ she tells herself. _You’re_ not _a little kid anymore._

She’s barely half a year away from her seventeenth birthday. She’s nearly an adult. She can handle this. She can handle _anything._

(She can’t handle Alfonse coming across her and asking what’s wrong, so she finds an alcove to hide herself in.)

Her hands are shaking when she breaks open the wax seal on her letter, and unfolds the neatly pressed parchment.

 _Dearest Sharena,_ Mother writes.

 _How are you, darling? It’s been a while since I wrote you, I know. I’m sorry. It’s much harder to find a spare minute, these days - were I not the Regent, I imagine I could write you more frequently, but as it is, I struggle to get a moment to myself at all. Know, darling, that though we may not keep in contact as often as we both would like, you are_ always _in my thoughts._

Sharena’s eyes _burn,_ and she forces herself to take a breath and unclench her jaw and hands before continuing on. She is not going to cry, she just _isn’t._

_Are you having fun, in the Order? You seemed happy last I saw you, but so much has happened since then that… well. It’s okay if you’re no longer as content to remain there as you were. I understand that perfectly, Sharena. Being frank, I do not wish you to remain there either._

_I miss you sorely, darling, and more than that, I_ worry.

 _I worry for you, and for your brother, and the longer you are away from me, the more my worry grows. It has not stopped, not since y our_ **_fa_ ** _the r died._

Her mother’s handwriting falters here, shaky and uneven. The beginning of ‘father’ is bloated and encroaching on the letters that surround it - Sharena brushes a thumb against the parchment, and knows that a tear fell there when her mother was writing this letter.

It’s like a knife to the heart.

 _Please, Sharena,_ Mother writes, _come home._

 _Talk to your brother for me, please. Convince him that his place can no longer be with the Order - it must be here, in Askr, with_ us, _Sharena. I just want the both of you home and safe with me, darling._

_I am counting on you, Sharena. I know you won’t let me down._

_With everlasting love,_ _  
_ _Mother._

Her signature trails off with a loop, like it always has. Not her name, but the only title that’s ever mattered to her; what she is to her children.

_Mother._

Sharena wants to cry, she so desperately wants to cry, but she won’t, she won’t, she _won’t -_

Her breath hitches in her swollen throat, tight and painful, and she screws her eyes up as she repeats _I won’t cry_ in her head like a mantra. Alfonse and Kiran’s letters are like lead weights in her hands. She’s terrified of what will be written in them - should she even give them to them at all?

_I know you won’t let me down._

She can’t _breathe_ right.

Nothing - nothing has made sense since Hel ruined _everything._ She tried to kill Alfonse, but Father ended up dying instead, and then Líf was _another_ Alfonse and he looked at her with such sad, sad eyes even though she wasn’t _his_ Sharena because _his Sharena was dead,_ and ever since then Kiran and Alfonse have been so, so sad and Sharena doesn’t _understand_ but she hates it, _she hates it -_

She’s going to cry.

She clenches her hands into fists. Her letter crumples into a ball in one hand; she takes one deep breath in. Holds it. Lets it out. In, out. In, out. Again and again and again, Sharena just _breathes._

Eventually, she calms. Her eyes, she knows, are probably bright red and swollen - she can’t find Alfonse. Not like this, not when he’s been so morose lately already. She doesn’t want to upset him more, but -

_Kiran._

Kiran will understand, and she won’t judge her, and - best of all - even though she’s _super_ close to Alfonse, she won’t tell him anything, if Sharena asks her not to.

She stands, determined, and makes her way to the Obelisk. If Kiran isn’t there already, she will be at _some_ point of the day. She always is, without fail.

Sharena’s proven right, because of course she is.

“Sharena?” Kiran had turned to her when she walked in, alerted to her presence by the sound of her footsteps, but the quick, cursory over-the-shoulder glance she’d given at first quickly becomes a concerned doubletake. “Have you been - are you crying?” She stows Breidablik away, in the holster on her hip, and hurries over to where Sharena stands in the entranceway, pulling her into the room proper, her hands hovering over her shoulders as she looks Sharena up and down. She’s frowning, slightly. “Are you okay?”

“I got a letter,” Sharena croaks out, blinking back down the fresh round of tears that threaten to fall, summoned up be Kiran’s warm, gentle, _genuine_ concern. “From Mother.”

Kiran’s frown becomes something slightly more pinched. “Queen Henriette?” She murmurs. And then, louder, “can I read this letter, Sharena?”

Sharena shakes her head. She - she wants Kiran’s advice, of course, but. So much of that letter had been private, at least to her. Her mother’s worry, her love… and her tears. 

“She wrote one for you, too,” she says quietly, and hands it to Kiran as she wipes her eyes with her other hand.

Kiran arches a brow, but takes the letter without a word. She cracks the seal with a rather vicious slash of her fingers, and her bright, bright eyes flicker over whatever is written down for her with a hardening glint shining in their depths.

“Your mother wants you to go home,” she says finally, voice controlled in that carefully neutral tone Sharena has come to learn is Kiran’s way of trying not to sound as angry as she actually is.

“Yeah,” Sharena sniffles.

“What do _you_ want, Sharena?”

 _I want my dad to not be dead,_ she thinks, _I want my brother to smile again and_ mean it, _I want to know my mother really_ does _just want me home because she loves me and misses me, and not because she needs me to drag Alfonse home onto the throne._

 _I want to go back to how things were before Hel ruined_ everything.

“I want to stay here with _you,”_ she whispers, and, mortifyingly, her voice cracks. 

Kiran doesn’t comment on it, thankfully - just gives her a faint smile, even as the anger in her eyes doesn’t die down, and tugs her in close. Holds her tight. “You don’t have to go home if you don’t want to,” she tells her, and it doesn’t _sound_ like a lie when she’s the one saying it.

Sharena knows it is one, though.

She doesn’t call Kiran out on it. She just buries her head in her shoulder, and cries.

-x-

Afternoon finds Alfonse in the mess hall, steps faltering as he takes in the scene before him: his sister, tucked under Kiran’s arm, poking miserably at a bowl of custard with a spoon. Her eyes are red; she’s been crying.

Worry stabs at him, but he tells himself to stay calm - if he barges in there and starts demanding to know what’s wrong, Sharena will clam up. After all, if she’d _wanted_ Alfonse to know why she was upset, she would have come to him first, not Kiran.

He makes his way deeper into the room slowly, trying to remain quiet without sneaking. Sharena doesn’t notice him, not immediately, but Kiran does, and her amused glance over her shoulder says _I know what you’re doing_ as clearly as if she’d spoken the words aloud.

“Alfonse,” she greets, before he can get within arms length of the table they sit at, and under her arm Sharena startles, head jerking up with something like panic crossing her face. “How are you?”

He frowns. “I’m well,” he says. “Sharena, are you okay?”

Kiran grimaces. Sharena grimaces, and fidgets in her seat. “Feh came in with letters,” she says, eventually, quietly. “There were some from Mother. For me, and Kiran… and you, Alfonse.”

Alfonse squints at her. Sharena has always loved writing Mother letters, ever since the Order had truly started up and the two of them had moved out to the fortress permanently. She’d always said it was exciting to ‘have a penpal.’

She doesn’t seem excited right now. Doesn’t seem happy at _all._

 _What did Mother_ say _to her?_

He doesn’t ask, not yet. “Do you have mine on you?”

Sharena nods, and holds it out, but when he reaches for it, he has to tug it out of her grip - she’s clearly reluctant to give it to him, on at least some level.

That’s… kind of concerning.

Frown deepening, Alfonse takes a seat next to Kiran, angled away slightly so that she won’t be able to read over his shoulder without being incredibly obvious about it, and breaks the seal, before unfolding his letter.

It’s - more of the same, really. Nothing cruel, or even demanding, but as much as Alfonse loves and respects his mother, he also knows how to pick up on the poisoned barbs of manipulation hiding underneath all her affection softened truths. 

He doesn’t know what she wrote Sharena, but he can _guess._

He sighs, and folds his letter back up again, sliding it up one sleeve - it’ll stay there until he gets an opportunity to store it away with the rest in his office. He summons up the brightest smile he can. “Hey, Sharena,” he says, and reaches across Kiran with one arm to take hold of his sister’s hand. “You know everything is okay, right?”

The baleful glare Sharena sends his way then, eyes suspiciously shiny, says very loudly that _no,_ she _doesn’t_ know that.

“Well, it _is,”_ he tries to reassure her. He sighs, and pulls his hand back, leaning a little way out of Kiran’s personal space. “I know we’re being unfair to you,” he says quietly. “Mother and I both. I _am_ sorry, Sharena.”

Kiran lets out a quiet sigh. A glance at her, caught in the middle of them, right as she finished rolling her eyes heavenward. He frowns, and throws an elbow into her side. She lets out an _oof,_ but doesn’t flinch.

“I just want things to go back to how they were,” Sharena whispers; almost a wail, almost broken.

 _Almost,_ but not quite.

Alfonse laughs without humour. “Yeah,” he says softly. “Yeah, Sharena. Me too.”

Kiran shifts, seemingly hesitating with something, before sighing, and meeting Alfonse’s questioning gaze with steel in her eyes.

“I’ve been remembering things,” she says, and both Sharena and Alfonse jolt in surprise. Alfonse opens his mouth to ask her to clarify, but she’s speaking again before he gets the chance. “Not much, but bits and pieces.”

For the first time since Alfonse had walked into the room, Sharena looks like something close to her usual self, bright and bubbly as her eyes light up and she leans forward, right into Kiran. “Do you remember your name? Do you?”

Something pained shines in Kiran’s expression as she shakes her head, lips thin. “No,” she says, “but I…” she falters, and swallows, before pressing on. “I remember my dad.”

Alfonse goes still, and feels like he’s sinking. Given what they’d been talking about before, if that’s what led Kiran into this topic - he feels like he knows where this is going, and he. He _doesn’t like it._

Sharena must be able to tell too, or at least have an inkling, because she’s solemn when she asks, “what was he like?”

Kiran shrugs, but there’s a smile tugging at the corners of her lips; a little rueful, a lot nostalgic. “The flashes I get of him? He was… kind of a weirdo,” she says, and laughs. “But he loved me. He loved me a lot, I could tell. He’s always… always smiling, in every memory I have of him. I doubt I ever saw him frown even once.”

That sounds so far from what Alfonse’s idea of what a father is that he struggles to parse what Kiran’s said for a moment, and that’s when the subtle grief in her words hits him. He takes in an unsteady breath; his bad feeling was right, then.

“What happened to him?” He says, soft and low.

“Cancer,” Kiran says. “Do you - do you have that, here? It’s a disease, back in my home world. There isn’t really a _cure_ for it, and treatment can sometimes make you sicker, or not work at all - or only work temporarily. That’s what happened, with my dad. He was fine, for a while, but it came back, and they caught it too late. He just… wasted away.” She pulls her arm off of Sharena, to lock her hands in each other. Her gloves creak and strain as she squeezes tight. “Even at the end, though, when he was in too much pain to leave his bed, he was still smiling.” She sounds haunted.

“I’m sorry,” Alfonse says quietly.

Kiran shakes her head, and sighs. She pulls her hands apart, and holds one out to each of them. He takes the offer without conscious thought, and finds himself pulled into Kiran’s side, along with his sister. He freezes, tensing up, before settling into the embrace.

“I… I get it,” Kiran says. “Wanting to go back to how things were before. But with a loss like this… you _can’t,_ you know? Things will never go back again. You just have to… find your new normal.”

“I don’t _want_ a new normal,” Sharena protests, and her voice cracks. 

Stinging in the corners of his eyes, and Alfonse has to take a second to blink back his own unexpected tears.

“I know,” Kiran soothes, unbelievably gentle. She pulls them in closer, tighter. “Oh, sweetheart, I know.”

Alfonse’s earlier grievances with Kiran, and the heavy thoughts and feelings that had plagued him - they’re gone, suddenly, or at least shoved far down the list in terms of priority as the three of them cling to each other in the mess hall, circled by circular, shared grief. Sharena’s the only one of them crying, but - it’s a close thing.

Alfonse buries his head into Kiran’s neck, and for the first time in weeks, he stops trying to force himself to be strong.

He just _feels._

He mourns - his father, but, also -

\- himself.

-x-

Sharena has a headache once they all finished crying it out on each other, as well as a sudden nagging exhaustion that won’t go away, so Kiran and Alfonse help her to her quarters. Kiran lingers in the room as Alfonse helps his sister get into bed with a fond yet exasperated smile on his face - there’s still worry and grief pinching at the corners of his eyes, but in that moment, they’re far less noticeable than they’ve been since the whole mess with Hel _started._

He tucks Sharena in, ignoring her mumbled protests that she _isn’t a kid,_ and presses a soft, quick kiss to her forehead.

Kiran feels a pang in her chest, at that. She’d never had any siblings, as far as she could remember, but sometimes in those flickers that came back, there were glimpses of other children she’d played with - friends? Cousins? Neighbours? - and the simple affection they’d shared had come just as easy as the love that Alfonse and Sharena shared. Just like breathing.

More than just that, though, is the memory of her mother’s teasing, dancing eyes as she tucked a younger Kiran in, nuzzling her nose into her cheek and pressing a wet kiss to her skin before Kiran could wriggle away.

_Sweet dreams, darling._

“Sweet dreams, Sharena.”

Sharena rolls her eyes as she burrows deeper under her covers, but she seems… more peaceful, now, than she had earlier. Settled.

Kiran’s not really sure how much of that calm she can take credit for, but she’s glad if she helped Sharena feel better, even if only just a little bit.

Alfonse’s eyes find hers, and he jerks his chin in a gesture Kiran understands intrinsically; _wait for me in the hallway._

Now, as far as Kiran is concerned, Alfonse isn’t the boss of her, and, yeah - she’d been avoiding him - but she’s also not a total ass. After everything that just happened? She’s feeling a little raw herself, and if Alfonse wants to talk to her for a little bit, it is, quite literally, the least she could do.

She exits Sharena’s room as quietly as she can, and closes the door behind her. She settles in to wait, leaning against the wall by the door, and it’s not long before it opens once more, Alfonse stepping out. He closes the door, slow and careful, and Kiran watches his shoulders slump. He sighs, before tilting his head and looking across at her.

She tries for a smile. “Hey.”

He sighs again, but there’s something undeniably fond buried under the exasperation as he struggles not to smile at her. She’s beyond relieved to see that even though things between them had been tense the night before, he really doesn’t seem to have any hard feelings towards her for it - their bond means so, so much to her that if he’d been _really_ upset, she doesn’t think she would’ve been able to get through more than a few days of cold shoulder treatment from him before having a breakdown.

“Hey,” he says. “Can we walk?”

It’s almost an echo of last night, the two of them wandering the halls of the fortress, Kiran’s arm locked around Alfonse’s offered one - except it’s not, because this time, the weight of the truth laid out between them isn’t quite as fresh; isn’t quite as heavy.

“I thought about what you’ve been trying to do,” Alfonse said. “Thought about it all night, really. Couldn’t sleep.” 

Kiran snorts. “Not that _that_ is anything unusual.”

Playfully, he kicks out at one of her ankles. She stumbles, but he doesn’t let her fall. He doesn’t react to her scowl, either, just continues on speaking.

“I understand where you’re coming from,” he says. “And..” He grimaces. “I still don’t _like_ it, but I… I agree with it.” The expression on his face tells her that forcing those words out was akin to coughing up shards of glass. “Whether he stays or not - whether or not this is possible at all, in the end - you’re right, in saying that we need _some_ sort of closure… and that he deserves this chance.”

Her next breath in is a struggle as she blinks back tears. She’s moving before she can see clearly again, and Alfonse lets out a yelp as she throws herself into his arms. “Thank you,” she says, a whisper full of meaning, straight into his ear. Her grip tightens. _“Thank_ you.”

Alfonse hesitates, sighs, and his arms close around her, pulling her in. “Don’t thank me,” he murmurs. “I’m just doing what we’ve always done.”

Kiran tilts her head from where it rests on his shoulder to twist up to face him, a question in her expression. He looks bashful, and avoids her gaze. “What do you mean?”

“We’ve never backed down from giving an enemy a second chance before,” he says. “Or… a second home. I don’t see why… _he_ should be any different, just because he and I - just because of my personal feelings.”

“Your personal feelings _matter,_ Alfonse,” Kiran insists with a roll of her eyes. “But, I get what you’re saying, and… thank you.” She laughs, a little self-recriminating. “I felt _super_ bad about going behind your back, at first. I knew it was wrong of me.”

“But you still did it,” Alfonse points out, and Kiran sighs.

“Yeah,” she says. “Yeah, I did.”

A moment of quiet falls between them, before Alfonse pulls her in tighter for just a second, and lets her go. As she steps back, out of his space, she loops her hand into his. “It’s okay,” he tells her with a smile. His tone tells her it’s a promise.

“You’re still not happy about this, are you?”

“I’m not happy about a lot of things.” His eyes flick to the sleeve he stashed Henriette’s letter up, and Kiran has to wrestle with the urge to steal it from him and rip through every infuriating word. “Trust me - this might sound kind of ridiculous right now, and this certainly wasn’t the truth last night, but Líf is currently at the bottom of the list of ‘things I am unhappy about.’”

That’s not really something to be amused over, but Kiran can’t help but crack a slight grin anyway. It fades swiftly, though, because she knows - for it to place so low, there’s _so much else_ weighing Alfonse down. “Is there anything I can do to help?” She squeezes the hand she holds.

He squeezes back, and tilts his head, taking her in consideringly. “Maybe,” he allows. “Aren’t you going back to the Obelisk, though?”

Kiran waves a hand in the air. “Eh,” she says. “I think I’m all summoned out. For today, at least.”

Alfonse hums thoughtfully. “Well, then, do you think you could spare a minute to talk to Princess Veronica? Prince Xander came to me, concerned, so I know she is still within the fortress…” A self-deprecating grin. “I’d go talk to her myself, but, well.” He grimaces, looking slightly put out, and Kiran giggles a little to herself. “She doesn’t like me.”

With her free hand, Kiran pats him on the shoulder consolingly. “She’ll come around,” she says. “Eventually. Probably.” 

Alfonse looks aggrieved. “If you say so.”

“I _do_ say so.” Her expression becomes serious once more. “What exactly is concerning you?”

“Loki.”

She frowns. “She’s still around? I know she’s been a nuisance, but… she’s never really acted alone, has she? She likes to pull on the strings of other people.” She narrows her eyes at nothing in particular, a deep worry beginning to stir in the back of her mind. “Do you think she’s pulling Veronica’s?”

“I don’t know,” Alfonse admits, and sounds like it pains him. “I know, I _know_ \- Veronica is an ally now, and a child, besides - ” _almost a full three years younger than Sharena_ “ - but. I worry. I can’t _help_ but worry. Call it… well honed paranoia.”

Kiran snorts. “I’ll call it bracing for the worst but hoping for the best, thanks,” she says, and unlinks her arm from Alfonse’s, letting her hand drop away from his. “I’ll talk to her,” she promises. “Can’t promise that it will do anything, or make her _admit_ anything, but I’ll try.”

Alfonse’s smile, relieved with tones of exhaustion, makes her feel a little better about the cold dread that’s now settled in her heart like a portent - an omen. As long as she’s helping him, they’re a team, and she can share in some of his burden.

“Thank you,” he says, softly, but with feeling. His eyes seem brighter, maybe, with one less item on his list of things he needs to take care of personally.

“You’re welcome,” she says. “I’ll get right to it - what about you? What are you going to do?”

Alfonse sighs. His shoulders slump, and he looks away from her, down at his feet. She nearly goes to reach for him, to comfort him, but before she’s so much as lifted a hand, he’s raised his head once more, and meets her worried eyes with determination burning in his own. “I,” he says, “am going to have a talk with Commander Anna.”

Kiran pauses. That wasn’t what she’d been expecting. “About?”

“My mother,” Alfonse says. “And Askr. This… has gone on for far too long, and I know that’s mostly my own fault.” He grimaces. “I’ve been immature about this, and now Sharena is getting caught in the middle. That’s unfair. So… I’m dealing with it.”

He sounds nervous as he finishes, his confidence and determination - not _gone,_ but slightly buried, under his body language and searching eyes that brace for Kiran’s dissaproval.

She makes sure to smile at him. “I’m proud of you,” she tells him. Her voice is firm, and spots of bright pink appear high on his cheeks as he clears his throat and looks away from her.

_Don’t laugh, don’t laugh!_

“Thanks,” he mumbles. “Good luck, with Veronica.”

“I won’t need it,” she says. “Veronica actually _likes_ me, after all.” His offended glare is hilarious. “Well, she tolerates me. Especially compared to you, Alfonse.” She nudges him in the side with an elbow. “Hey - good luck to you, too.”

He sighs. “I _will_ need it, so thank you,” he says.

They part ways.

Kiran watches him go, with his head held high, back straight.

 _He’s got this,_ she tells herself.

-x-

Anna is probably the only thing in existence that Alfonse understands _less_ than whatever power it is that allows the Summoner to pull heroes from all worlds and all ages, and as a child he’d asked her endless questions in an attempt to understand her - _why are you in so many portraits around the palace? Have you really served Askr since it was founded? Why do you never age? How old_ are _you? -_ but had never gotten any answers.

Just her coy, mysterious smile, and a tap on the forehead as she changed the subject, or distracted him.

(He’d asked his father, once, if he knew, and it’s one of the few memories he has of Father’s laughter, as he scooped Alfonse up and told him, very seriously, that he could not remember a time where Anna wasn’t a part of his life, and in all that time, she hadn’t changed _once._

“I used to ask her all those questions you like to,” he’d said. “But she never answered me, and eventually, I gave up.”

“Ask her now!” Alfonse had insisted. “You’re the king, she _has_ to listen to you.”

Father had shook his head. “No, Alfonse,” he’d said. “Anna does not serve King nor Queen, but _Askr.”_ He’d grimaced. “Also - and do _not_ tell her _or_ your mother that you heard this from me - but she scares me.”

He’d winked at Alfonse after saying this, and Alfonse had giggled, and it’s still one of Alfonse’s fondest memories. He’s not sure when the Father of his childhood became the Father he was when the Order had been established -

\- except, yes he did, that was a lie, he knew _exactly_ when Father had changed, and it had been around the time Alfonse’s training in opening gates had started, and he’d failed failed _failed -_

_Not the time, Alfonse. Not the place. Stop thinking about this.)_

Still, for all that Alfonse doesn’t understand Anna, he _knows_ her, and he knows that - with this - she will be on his side.

She’d followed him to the Order, after all. Him and Sharena.

_Anna does not serve King nor Queen, but Askr._

If he asks for her counsel… she’ll give it, and she’ll give it to him from the angle of what’s best for Askr. He doesn’t know if he’ll actually _listen_ to it, but -

Alfonse’s second, deep, shameful secret: sometimes, he thinks of Anna as more of a mother than his own. He remembers lessons and nightmares and trips outside of the citadel, and it’s Anna, it was always Anna.

 _Mother and Father are very busy people,_ she’d always reassured him, when he’d asked after them, and now he understands just what she meant, when as a child growing into a teenager he’d felt little but wounded resentment; running the Order cannot be anything even comparable to running a kingdom, and he feels like he’s barely keeping his head above water on his _good_ days - but _understanding_ it in hindsight doesn’t make the years of hurt go away… and it doesn’t mean that, in some cases, he won’t trust Anna over his mother.

In its own way, that’s painful to admit, even to himself.

Anna is in her office, as he knew she would be, at this time of day. He knocks to announce his presence, and calls out “it’s me!” when Anna asks.

A _click-shink_ under his hand, and the lock comes undone. The door swings open silently, and he steps into the room, pulling it closed behind him. It locks once more, without him need to so much as touch it.

 _Anna magic,_ he thinks, and grins.

Alone in a private room no one can gain access to without her permission, Anna has her gloves off. When she waves at him, grinning coyly, her sharp nails catch the lantern light as they cut through the air. She’d claimed one of the internal offices as her own; no windows in her room. No natural light, ever, unless she leaves her door wide open.

He’s used to it.

“Alfonse!” Anna greets him cheerfully - almost painfully so; voice loud and grin wide and bright. “What brings you to my humble abode?” She gestures for him to sit down as she talks. Her gaze taking him in is narrowed and calculating - she’s happy to see him, no doubt, and happy to talk, but she knows this isn’t just a casual social visit. She hums as he settles into the seat placed across from her desk. “What’s on your mind, hmm?”

Alfonse pulls Mother’s letter from his sleeve, and hands it to Anna wordlessly. She takes it with a raised brow. It only raises higher as she reads through it.

 _“Well,”_ she says, and whistles low through her teeth. “Henriette sure isn’t pulling any punches, huh?”

“She wants me home,” Alfonse says. “Anna, tell me - is Mother right?”

Anna’s still staring down at the letter when he speaks, but as his words, she tilts her head to gaze across at him. She places the letter down and curls her hands under her chin, and just stares at him for a long moment. _“Hmm,”_ she says finally, which is neither very clear nor helpful, but Alfonse knows better than to rush Anna when she’s thinking. “She’s right in saying that she cannot remain Regent forever,” she says, “or even for much longer - before the year’s end, restlessness in the citadel will force her hand, and _that_ will look bad for your reign, Alfonse. Better to step up as soon as possible, before it becomes clear that you had to be dragged onto the throne.”

Alfonse jolts. “That’s - !” Anna holds up a hand, and he falls silent.

“That’s how it will _look,”_ she presses. “It will look like you do not care for your people, Alfonse. Like you don’t want the responsibility of ruling them at _all.”_

Alfonse swallows, a dawning horror tight and heavy in his throat. “But - that’s not how I feel at _all,”_ he says. “I’m just - ”

Anna’s smile is understanding, and sympathetic, but, ultimately - hard. “You’re just not ready,” she says, and Alfonse can only nod mutely.

She sighs. “That’s understandable,” she says. “In a kinder world, you would not have come within an inch of taking the throne for yourself for at _least_ another decade.” She stops, and stares at him expectantly.

“But… this isn’t a kinder world,” Alfonse continues for her, and she inclines her head in agreement.

“Do I agree with what Henriette is doing here?” She taps at the letter with one hand, nails like claws pricking through the paper where they make contact. “Hmm. Hard to say. I don’t appreciate her making you - and Sharena? - feel bad, but… well. Like I said. I _understand_ where she’s coming from. She’s desperate. And, in the end, she’s looking out for _you_ as much as she is Askr, in the long run.”

It’s… honestly nothing that Alfonse hadn’t already figured out for himself, but somehow, it feels more _real_ when Anna says it, even bringing up points Alfonse hadn’t thought of before. The idea that his people would think that he _didn’t_ understand his duty to them - that he wouldn’t _want_ to take up that duty, those responsibilities -

It makes him slightly sick, to be honest, because it isn’t something he’d truthfully ever considered, it was _such_ an antithesis to _all_ that he was.

 _I’m only_ nineteen, _I’m not ready for this,_ he wants to scream out - at Anna, at anyone, really.

He doesn’t, but the sorrow in Anna’s gaze tells him she can all but hear the words burning on the back of his tongue, anyway.

“Then… what should I _do?”_ He asks, and it’s a broken whisper.

Anna reaches forward across her desk to take his hand gently in hers. “What do you _want_ to do?”

 _I want to turn back time,_ he thinks, but that isn’t a power the blood of Askr had ever held, and even if he could - he wouldn’t. He knows that. It’s just a lingering child’s wish.

“I don’t know,” he says. Admits. 

Anna nods, like this is what she expected. “Let’s buy you some time to figure it out, hmm?”

Alfonse blinks at her. “What?”

“Your mother wants you home, and given how… _pointed_ her wording is in this letter, I can only imagine that back in the citadel the pressure being put on her by the House of Lords is increasing. The longer you ignore her, the more you seem like a petulant child, unfit to rule - and the more she seems like a weak Queen, who only lasted as long as she did because her husband was a strong ruler.”

Alfonse flinches, and - he’s angry at Mother, hurt and upset and everything inbetween, but that his inaction could kick off some sort of _smear campaign -_

He breathes deep, and calms himself. His righteous fury that blazed up so fast just as swiftly dies down into banked embers. “So what’s the plan?”

“We’ll write a response - have you been writing her back at all?”

Alfonse pauses as that guilt stabs at him again, before slowly shaking his head. Anna sighs, and pinches her nose between her eyes. 

“Well, that’s better than writing back an _angry_ response, I suppose,” she mumbles. “We need to reassure her - and, more pressingly, the House of Lords that will _make up your council_ \- that this isn’t you running _away,_ Alfonse, but you being a responsible heir and taking your mourning time to reforge your steel into something even stronger.”

Slowly, he nods. “I understand,” he said, and then continues on, slightly hesitant, “how - how long, exactly, do you think this will buy me?”

Anna’s expression is hard to read as she looks him over silently. “A half year, at most,” she says. “Realistically, though - maybe half of that, again.”

 _Three months._ Alfonse swallows. Three months left of his relative freedom.

Three months left of his time with the Order.

With Kiran.

He sucks in a breath. He can deal with this.

“Thank you, Anna,” he says quietly, and she reaches up almost absentmindedly to ruffle his hair. He doesn’t try to dodge her hand.

“No need to thank me,” she says, offering him parchment, ink, quill, and her counsel. “Just doing my job.”

_Anna serves no King nor Queen, but Askr._

“Right,” he says, and dips the quill into the ink.

Anna leaning over his shoulder, he presses the nib to parchment, and starts writing.

-x-

Finding Princess Veronica isn’t hard at all, if only for one simple reason: she’s with herself. 

It isn’t something Kiran makes use of often, if she can avoid it, because it _weirds her the hell out,_ but - she’s the _Summoner._ All of the heroes that make up the Order? She’s the one that brought them to Askr. And that _means_ something.

It means that, when it really comes down to it, they can’t disobey direct orders from her, if she’s in the mood to press the issue (she hasn’t ever been, except in situations where not stepping in and forcibly cooling the situation down would have ended in blood), it means she can tell when one of her heroes is hurt (the better to know where to direct the healers), and, connected to all that… it means that, if she focuses, she can just _tell_ where her heroes are. All of them. At all times. 

So, yeah - she likes to avoid making use of it when she can, because it feels weird and gross and _invasive,_ but she can’t deny that it comes in handy, sometimes.

She follows that not-a-thread that she doesn’t see but can _feel_ to the Brave Veronica’s location, and finds her in one of the courtyards, seated across from herself, the two of them talking quietly over tea.

Brave falls silent when Kiran steps into the courtyard rather than continuing on, and when they both look over at her, there’s a question in her eyes, and suspicion in Veronica’s.

Kiran raises a hand in a wave automatically. “‘Sup,” she says, and moves forward to pull up a chair at their little tea party, as casual as can be. A lazy glance around the area reveals Xander standing in the shadows of a pillar - she hadn’t sensed him because, well, she hadn’t summoned him, and unlike other heroes they’d fought and recruited afterwards, he wasn’t contracted to her, but Veronica.

He nods at her just once in greeting, and while she probably looks nowhere near as imposing or cool doing it, she returns the gesture, before returning her attention to the two princesses watching her with silent, identical caution.

Hmm. God, does Askr hurt her _brain_ sometimes.

If there’s one thing she’s sure of, though, about the girls in front of her, it’s that the more straightforward you are, the more Veronica will appreciate you - even if she thinks it makes you an idiot, or a manipulator trying to lull her into a false sense of security so you can use her.

“Alfonse sent me to talk to you,” she says, blunt as can be, and Veronica’s carefully arranged blank face falls into a scowl. Brave hides her smirk behind her teacup.

“Why,” Veronica says. It doesn’t sound like a question, underneath the bristling annoyance, but Kiran treats it like one anyway.

She shrugs. “He’s concerned about you, I guess,” she says, and Veronica rolls her eyes. “And, hey - maybe he’s right to be! What have you been up to lately, anyway?” They haven’t exactly seen her around since they’d defeated Hel; even though Alfonse had eventually decided to send her an official invite to his birthday, framing it as a meeting between the heirs of opposing kingdoms that were finally coming back together after years of fractured relations, she hadn’t turned up.

Veronica, and Embla, has been radio silent for… quite some time now, actually. Kiran has to frown as she realises that, and considers that - maybe - Alfonse is _right_ to be concerned about whatever Loki is up to.

Veronica glares at her, fingers tense around the delicate porcelain of her teacup. She stares into the honey gold of her tea like it holds the answers she must have come here looking for, if she’d wanted to talk to her own Brave echo. “I’ve been… looking for my brother,” she admits, finally, grudgingly. 

Kiran’s gaze and interest both _sharpen._ “Bruno, huh?” She leans back in her seat, casual as she crosses her arms over her chest. “Found anything yet?”

Veronica’s mouth pinches, and she shakes her head. “I thought…” she falters. “I thought, maybe, that…”

“That he’d left because of Hel?” Kiran guesses. Veronica scowls at her, but nods.

“When we found Xander down there, in Hel’s keep, and the Princess said that Hel had taken him to stand for Embla… I knew it meant she hadn’t found my brother. And I thought that - maybe, somehow, he knew. Knew she was coming, and that’s why he’s been gone for so long. He knew she would go after him.” She looks plaintive and vulnerable, just for a moment, and Kiran is struck, as she always is, by just how _young_ Veronica is. Fourteen years old. She’s only _fourteen years old._ “But… if that’s it, then why…?”

“Why hasn’t he come home, now that Hel is dead, and no longer a threat?”

Veronica looks at Kiran sideways and, eventually, after taking a sip of her tea, nods. “Mmm,” she says. “He didn’t come home, and we’ve looked… _everywhere.”_ She glances away from Kiran, at Brave. “I - ”

“You’re running out of ideas,” Brave says, careful and controlled. “And, more than that, you’re running out of _hope.”_

Veronica tries to subtly blink away the tears that well up. Kiran politely looks away for a few seconds while the younger girl pulls herself back together.

“I - yeah,” Veronica croaks.

Kiran considers her for a long moment, before smiling. If it was Sharena, or almost any of the younger heroes, she’d reach out with a reassuring hand, or the offer of a hug, but for Veronica, she stays well back, respecting her boundaries. “Well,” she says brightly. “You’ve come to the right place, if you need help with finding Bruno.” She doesn’t soften - Veronica wouldn’t find that reassuring, she’d find it condescending - but she tries for empathy. “There are people here who care about him, too,” she says. “Who would do almost anything to help you find him.”

Veronica stares at her for a long, long moment. “I know,” she spits out finally, and she makes the concession sound like it’s the worst thing she’s ever tasted.

 _Do_ not _laugh, Kiran. No matter how cute you think she’s being._

Even if Kiran is struggling to keep her poker face, Brave apparently feels no compunction for laughing at all. Veronica’s scowl transfers from Kiran to her counterpart, but it noticeably softens in intensity.

“So, then…” Kiran trails off leadingly, and winks. “Will you be staying with the Order, then?”

Veronica sighs, looking extremely put out. “If I must,” she says. “I will. At least for now. If this turns out to be another trail that will lead _nowhere…”_

Kiran nods. “I understand,” she says. “Do you want me to convey this to Alfonse, or do you want to tell him yourself?”

Veronica looks _extremely_ put upon. “Etiquette dictates that I must announce myself to my host in person,” she says, which isn’t an answer.

Kiran raises a brow. “Well, forget etiquette. What does the _Veronica_ say?”

For just a moment, Veronica squints at her - probably trying to figure out her angle, or agenda. “You can tell him,” she says. “If you want.”

Kiran stands, pushing away from the table to duck into a shallow bow. “Thank you for your time, Princess,” she says. “I’ll tell Alfonse you’ll be staying with the Order for the foreseeable future.” She pauses. “I’ll make sure Princess Sharena knows you’re here, too. I’m sure she’d be happy to see you again.”

Something akin to horror flashes across Veronica’s face at the mention of Sharena, and Kiran _really_ needs to get out of this courtyard before she completely loses it. “Have a good day,” she says, and makes to leave, as fast as she can without actually breaking into a run. She swears she can feel the heat of two near identical gazes burning into her back as she exits, but neither of them call out to her.

“I’m counting that one as a win,” Kiran tells herself, and takes a minute to think through all that little chat revealed.

_Bruno, huh?_

That’s something else Alfonse will want to know about, on top of the fact that Kiran just invited Veronica to move in with them, _whoops._

“One thing at a time, Kiran,” she whispers, and sets out to find Alfonse.

-x-

When Sharena wakes up, the sun is still out - so either it’s still the same day, or she slept for _way_ longer than she intended to.

She chooses to believe it’s the first one; she may not enjoy getting up at the crack of dawn like her brother, but she’s nowhere near as lazy as Kiran, who would probably lay around in bed util noon each day if they let her. Even if she wasn’t sleeping! She just… lays there!

 _(It’s relaxing,_ Kiran had said, and shrugged, when Sharena had asked her why she was doing it - if she was sick, if she was hurt, if she was depressed. 

Sharena hadn’t really understood how laying down for hours, wide awake and doing nothing, was relaxing, but to each their own, she guessed. Kiran was a little weird already, anyway. This was just another quirk to add to the ever growing list.)

She yawns, and sits up to stretch. Alfonse had tucked her in in her clothes - _ew_ \- so they’re all over a bit _rumpled,_ but she’s not indecent, so she makes her way out of her room, rubbing at her eyes as she steps out into the hall.

Sharena squints at the sun through the window, trying to gauge the time. It’s high in the sky, but not quite centered dead above her; it’s angled east, though, so she knows that it’s setting. Late afternoon, then!

Her stomach grumbles, which is kind of embarrassing, considering she hasn’t really done much all day besides cry and sleep.

(She tries not to think on why she was doing both of those things.)

Well! If she’s hungry, there’s really only one place for her to go!

She takes the long way around, though, because she feels kind of guilty about doing nothing all day and leaving Kiran and Alfonse to sort everything out; pokes her head into the library and some training rooms and the infirmary to say hi and check up on all the heroes in each. When she reaches the final room before the mess hall - the armoury - Soleil breaks away from where she’d been taking inventory of a pile of swords while rambling at a stone faced Lute, citing _I need a snack!_ while throwing a friendly arm over Sharena’s shoulders.

(She can’t be sure, but she thinks she sees Lute roll her eyes once Soleil is no longer looking at her.)

“Haven’t seen you around much today, Princess,” Soleil hums thoughtfully, and Sharena knows it absolutely isn’t meant to be an attack, or criticism, especially considering just who it’s from, but that doesn’t mean the knife those words make up don’t slide home through chinks in her armour to cut deep.

“I… wasn’t feeling well,” Sharena admits. She curls in on herself, just a little bit.

Soleil’s sharp eyes watch hers, startlingly knowing, and Sharena is reminded all over again that - for all of Soleil’s overt, playful flirting, she’s a hero Kiran can summon for a _reason._ And the World of Fates is one of the more bizarrely broken ones out there, if the heroes Kiran has summoned from it are any example.

“Hope you feel better tomorrow, then,” she says casually, and just like that, the moment is gone, and the heaviness in the air dissipates. 

Sharena laughs. “Me too,” she says, as they step into the mess hall together.

It’s not quite evening, yet, so the dinner rush that usually piles in around that time hasn’t started filing in - but it’s more crowded than it was that morning, just her and Kiran as Sharena tried not to sob into a bowl of custard she hadn’t actually ended up eating, oops.

A few faces glance up when they enter, and smile or wave a greeting before turning their attention back to their own meals and conversations, and Sharena feels a lot more settled just from being in a crowd of people, she thinks.

“You wanna eat with me, or alone?” 

“We can eat together!” Sharena says eagerly, and Soleil flashes her a quick wink and a grin.

“You find us a table, and I’ll grab us something to eat?” She suggests, and Sharena nods before they part ways.

There are a lot of empty tables in the hall - there always are - so Sharena could honestly pick any one of them and it’d be fine, but she _likes_ eating with the heroes, so she scans the room for a group she thinks Soleil would get along with that also wouldn’t mind them intruding on their meal; she can see Ishtar and Julius sitting in one corner of the room, and _that_ is a table she wouldn’t want to poke with Fensalir in hand.

She moves on, looking over heroes from different lands all grouped together - until her eyes fall on one of the more crowded tables, where Prince Xander sits, surrounded by his siblings and retainers -

Sharena has to take a moment to stare, and blink, because if _Prince Xander_ is here -

“Hey!” Soleil’s voice, from right next to her, and Sharena jumps about a foot in the air. Soleil shoots her a concerned, questioning look, but her smile doesn’t falter. “You find somewhere to sit?” She’s balancing two trays easily enough, but manners kick in, and Sharena reaches out to take one.

“Yeah, I think so,” Sharena says. “Do you mind sitting with your father, Soleil?”

Soleil’s eyes jump immediately to the table Sharena nods at, and her eyes widen, brows raised. “Oh, I didn’t realise His Majesty was here,” she says. “No, I don’t mind!”

Sharena smiles, and heads in the direction of the crowded, noisy table. Soleil follows her lead.

She’s sure most of the people sitting at the table had surely noticed them approaching, but it’s Laslow that looks up first, expression warm and welcoming. He lifts his arm from where he’d placed it around Prince Xander’s shoulders, and sends a smile to his daughter. “Soleil!” He greets. “We haven’t shared a meal in _ages._ Sit, darling.”

Soleil rolls her eyes - makes a face at Sharena like _can you believe this guy?_ but she slides into the place by Laslow’s side that he indicates with little fuss. She looks happy, at least, when her father turns his attention to her and they begin talking quietly.

Sharena looks away from them with a faint smile of her own, and looks up, to see Princess Veronica sitting right across from her with a scowl. Princess Ylgr is leaning right into her, curiously looking between Sharena and Veronica as they stare each other down - practically crawling onto Veronica’s lap, really, now that Soleil’s presence on that side of the table has just made the bench that much more crowded.

Veronica’s presence here doesn’t really _surprise_ Sharena, because if Xander was here, of course she would be, too - but her presence at the _table_ does, a little bit, because Xander has a lot of siblings, and a lot of friends, and they’re all very _loud._

Sharena doesn’t know the younger princess very well, but she’s always gotten the sense that Veronica isn’t the kind of person to enjoy noisy places. Or noisy people.

(Or people in general, but, well - that’s something rude to be _thinking,_ so Sharena’s never shared that shameful thought with anyone else. Not even Kiran. Not even _Alfonse.)_

Her smile had faded slightly under Veronica’s glare, but she summons it back up once more to say, “Hi, Veronica.” She makes sure to nod at Ylgr, too.

“Hi hi,” Ylgr says. She throws an elbow into Veronica’s side, and Veronica’s scowl deepens before her face smooths out into careful, controlled blankness.

“Hello,” she says, and nothing else.

 _Awkward,_ Sharena thinks, and hears shaky, nervous laughter in the back of her head.

Veronica is a pitfall Sharena isn’t quite sure how to navigate around, so she doesn’t - she turns to Ylgr instead, a question in her eyes, and in her tone when she speaks.

“I thought Hríd decided you needed to stay in Nifl?”

He’d thanked the Order, grief in his eyes and youngest - remaining - sister in his arms, for protecting Fjorm for as long as they had. For fighting for his family, and his kingdom.

 _We must return now,_ he’d said. _I must be King, and Ylgr…_ he’d faltered here, in a way he hadn’t around ‘King,’ even though Sharena had seen the pain in his eyes at the unwanted acceptance he’d be taking the throne that had always been meant for Gunnthrá . _Ylgr must learn how to be Crown Princess,_ he’d managed, finally, heavily, and they’d all understood, even as they hadn’t wanted to.

Gunnthrá was dead. Fjorm was dead - she’d spent those last waning weeks of her life here, at the Order, her siblings lingering by her side the entire time. Until Hríd married, and had children… Ylgr was Nifl’s heir. Was Nifl’s _only_ heir.

(Sharena relates to that more than she wants to admit to, now.)

“He did,” Ylgr says. “I snuck out.”

Sharena jolts in her seat. That’s - that’s so irresponsible! She knows she’s not exactly the most _mature_ princess out there, but even she wouldn’t just… just up and leave her kingdom!

Ylgr rolls her eyes, like she can see what Sharena is thinking. “I’m joking,” she says, and Veronica smirks. “Nifl couldn’t really offer aid to Askr in regards to Hel - we’re still recovering from Múspell. But Nifl _owes_ Askr, and Hríd doesn’t want our ‘diplomatic relations’ breaking down from a lack of contact.” She reaches up a hand to tug nervously at a lock of her hair, and Sharena is struck, suddenly, by the knowledge that it’s been just under a year since the last time she saw Ylgr - she’s taller. Her hair’s longer. She’d be… what, twelve, now?

(Her eyes look older.)

“He thinks I’ve been doing well enough in my lessons to act as a representative of the Crown without his supervision,” she says, hesitant - brows furrowed. “So when he heard that Princess Veronica was heading to Askr, he organised for me to travel with her and Prince Xander.”

Sharena squints, and stares at Veronica. “How did _Nifl_ know you were coming here, but we didn’t get to find out until you were knocking at our front doors?”

Veronica shrugs. Ylgr elbows her again. “After… Surtr,” she says, and frowns around the name, “we kept in contact.”

Sharena resists the urge to coo. From all past experiences with the other girl, right now Veronica is being downright pleasant, and she doesn’t want to ruin that (or dinner).

“That’s nice,” Sharena says, and means it.

“Ylgr’s _persistent,”_ Veronica hisses, and stabs her fork into the chicken on her plate.

“Aw,” Ylgr says, and leans her head down on Veronica’s arm. “You know you love me.”

The look on Veronica’s face says she knows no such thing.

But, still, she doesn’t shove Ylgr off of her.

 _Huh._ Interesting. 

“Are you staying for long, then?” She asks.

Ylgr shrugs. “A few weeks, maybe,” she says. “I’ll leave when Vero does.”

Sharena nearly spits her dinner across the table - _Vero?!_ one part of her brain screeches, while another part, louder, yells out _A FEW WEEKS?!_

She coughs - she’d managed to refrain from any obvious reactions, but she had inhaled fast and hard on reflex, and she spends a few seconds pulling herself back together. She swallows her mouthful of food, and seeks clarification.

“You’re… staying here for _that_ long, Princess Veronica?”

For a long, long moment, Veronica just stares at her. It’s as impossible as ever to read her expression.

Then, she speaks, something coy and triumphant flickering about the corners of her almost-smile. “His Majesty gave me permission to,” she says. “Has he not told you?”

At first, Sharena is just confused. _His Majesty_ \- that’s _Father_ , so how -

Except, no. No it isn’t, not anymore. 

Truthfully, Alfonse can’t claim that title for himself right now, either, since he hasn’t been coronated yet, and Veronica _absolutely_ knows that… 

… but, just as likely, she also knows what she could say that would hurt Sharena the most.

She takes a deep, shaky breath, and forces her grip around her cutlery to relax.

 _Veronica is fourteen,_ she tells herself. _A child. Don’t let her goad you into yelling at her. You’re nearly three years older than her!_

“I’m glad,” she says, and means it genuinely, even under her current anger. Her hurt. “It will be nice to have a chance to get to know you better.”

Ylgr nods enthusiastically. Veronica rolls her eyes, and turns her attention back to her own plate - seemingly dismissing Sharena from mind entirely.

Well. She’s fine with that, too. Ylgr is a fine enough conversation partner, and it’s not like Sharena’s exactly had much of a chance to really _talk_ to Prince Xander before now, considering that he’s been with Embla.

Dinner passes peacefully.

(Sharena tries not to wonder too much just why it is Veronica is staying with them for so long - just what it is she’s up to. Alfonse will tell her later.

Won’t he?)

-x-

Veronica settles in well to life at the Order’s fortress - which is to say, she spends her time between the library and her quarters, generally taking her meals in private when Ylgr doesn’t drag her to the dining hall, so most of the heroes don’t even know she’s there.

There’s a part of Alfonse that prefers it this way - the less people that know about her presence, the less chances of some sort of altercation breaking out; he doesn’t think most of the heroes would necessarily go out of their way to pick a fight with a _child,_ but Veronica is more than just a child. She’s a Princess of Embla, and long before Hel - before even Múspell - it was Embla that had been their enemy. Some heroes had come to them through broken contracts that had led back to Veronica’s hands.

They hadn’t forgotten. Alfonse could only hope they’d forgiven.

That isn’t what’s on his mind tonight, though, as he knocks at Veronica’s door.

After a moment, it opens. Prince Xander stands there, looking at him with a question in his eyes, and Alfonse can only silently wonder how it feels serving Veronica - Crown Prince playing the role of butler and bodyguard, both in one.

“Prince Alfonse,” he says, and raises a brow. “A bit late, is it not, to be calling on my charge?”

He’s not wrong, really - it’s late, the moon high in the sky, and if Veronica were a lady of his court, stopping by at this hour would be most innapropriate, especially since he’s alone. Alfonse finds that ridiculous, and is slightly annoyed by the suspicion in Xander’s tone - what kind of man does he take him for?

He well knows paranoia, though, and just how deeply the need to protect a younger sister can sit, so he doesn’t bother trying to defend himself over something he doesn’t need to argue over.

“Princess Veronica is new here,” he says, “And it’s the full moon.”

A rustle in the room behind the door - Xander has it mostly closed, his body blocking what little of it remains open. Alfonse couldn’t see in if he tried, but Xander looks back over his shoulder. When he turns back to Alfonse, something in his eyes is pained.

“Princess Veronica would like to know what about the full moon is so fascinating that it would lead you to seek out her companionship, Prince Alfonse.”

Alfonse grins, and raises his voice, just a bit. “Haven’t you ever wondered how Kiran can pull so many heroes from myth and legend?”


End file.
